


it's you and me and no one else

by cywscross



Series: TW Soulmates AUs [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Language, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 08:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3522359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cywscross/pseuds/cywscross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first thing your soulmate says to you is printed on your skin at birth.</p><p>--</p><p><em>‘You must be Stiles.’</em> is written in sharp cursive on the inside of Stiles’ right wrist.</p><p><em>‘If I tell you I'm your soulmate, are you still gonna kill me?’</em> is scrawled in bold lettering down Peter’s left forearm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've edited the first chapter a bit so it'll be a little different from the version on tumblr if you've read that one.

"You must be Stiles."

 

Stiles goes stone still, for all of five seconds, a maelstrom of _ohfuckthisguyis-mysoulmatchesaserialkiller's-whydoesthisbullshithavetohappentome_ , and then, mostly without his permission and because the man in front of him is still looking at him with ice in his smile and rage in his eyes, his mouth goes, "If I tell you I'm your soulmate, are you still gonna kill me?"

 

He gets maybe two seconds to watch Peter Hale’s expression freeze, and then – in the blink of an eye – the werewolf is in front of him, and Stiles finds himself pinned to the nearest wall with claw-tipped hands that grip him by the shoulders a whole hell of a lot more gently than he would ever expect.

 

He stares wide-eyed into a feverishly bright blue gaze set in a scarred face that studies him in return with equal intensity.

 

“No,” Peter eventually tells him, and it takes a moment for Stiles to realize that that was the answer to his question. The werewolf cocks his head. “Are you going to try and kill me?”

 

Stiles resents the ‘try’ but he figures now isn’t the time to nitpick. Then again, “Hey!  I could totally pull off murder if I wanted to!”

 

That... doesn't come out quite the way he wanted it to. Peter arches an eyebrow. Stiles huffs, pulls his thoughts together, and mentally begins rearranging his plans for the foreseeable future.

 

“I don’t want to,” He admits. He looks Peter square in the eye as steadily as he can. “But if you keep going after my friends, all bets are off.”

 

Peter’s eyes flash but he doesn't contest this condition. “I'm still going to kill Kate,” He says instead, a fact and a challenge all at once. His eyes burn like topaz and fire.

 

Stiles bites his lip and then shrugs, the movement doing nothing to dislodge Peter’s warm hands.

 

“I figured that much,” He thinks of what he’d do if some psychotic bitch burned his family alive. He drinks in the sight of his soulmate again. And then he takes a deep breath. “You do that, and I’ll help you pin all your other murders on her. But keep it to Kate. No one else.”

 

Peter’s face stays blank for a moment longer before, and for a moment, Stiles thinks he might refuse, but then he’s granted a slightly fanged and more than slightly hungry smile, and a thumb brushes the hummingbird-quick pulse fluttering in his neck. He shivers.

 

“Deal,” Peter agrees in an almost too mild tone.

 

Stiles nods, heart thumping rapidly in his chest with something a lot like cautious relief. He knows that that's the best he'll get, and it's already more than he thought Peter would give, all things considered.

 

He hesitates, and then he blurts out before he loses his nerve, “And afterwards, we should probably... talk. If you want. About.” He flaps a hand between them.

 

Peter’s smile becomes a touch more genuine, and Stiles forgets to breathe for several seconds when the man ducks his head and runs his nose down the length of Stiles’ neck.

 

 _Scenting him_ , his brain mutters almost hysterically, and it’s a bit weird but at least it’s not a _bad_ weird.

 

Stiles is pretty sure he actually feels a hint of teeth before the werewolf pulls back again.

 

“Deal,” Peter repeats, and this time, it sounds like a threat and a promise all in one.

 

This man is dangerous and cunning and not-entirely-sane, with a moral compass that's more broken than Stiles'.

 

It probably says a lot about Stiles' own character when all he feels is a rush of unprecedented anticipation.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please leave a review on your way out.**


	2. Chapter 2

 

“This hiding-a-fugitive-in-my-bedroom thing is getting really old,” Stiles mutters as he watches Peter make himself comfortable on his bed. _On his bed_ , and yeah, okay, soulmates, but _still_. He sighs. “Well, at least you don’t lurk in the corner and complain about my clothes like Derek.”

 

He twitches when he’s pinned in place with vivid blue eyes. Peter has a really intense gaze, even without the Alpha red.

 

“That would explain why it smells like my nephew in here,” The man remarks, and his voice is bland enough to not give anything away but Stiles gets the feeling that he’s not pleased anyway.

 

“I didn't make him food,” Stiles offers, which, _what_. What is his mouth doing? “I could make you food.” He considers this for a moment – soulmates aside, they were enemies not too long ago – and amends, “ _Un_ poisoned food. I'm a kickass cook, and you must be hungry.” He pauses. “Freshly killed rabbits aren’t on the menu though. Or really, freshly killed anything.”

 

Something close to a smile flits at one corner of Peter’s mouth before he drawls out sardonically, “Pity. And I was so looking forward to raw deer.”

 

Stiles gives him a scandalized look. Peter’s expression broadens into a smirk. Stiles shoots him the stink-eye and jabs a finger at him for emphasis. “No killing Bambi, ever. That’s another condition. It’s like kicking puppies! You wouldn't kick puppies, would you?”

 

Peter makes a show – _hopefully_ just a show – of thinking about the correct answer to this. Stiles chucks a pillow at him and clatters back down the stairs, grumbling about psychopathic werewolves and how it is so not okay to pick on small fluffy animals.

 

Nobody’s looking so he doesn't have to bite back the slightly silly grin on his face when he just manages to catch what sounds like a huff of almost-laughter from his soulmate. Progress. Miniscule progress. Still better than nothing.

 

Later, when he returns with a pierogi casserole, Peter’s asleep, much to Stiles’ shock, mostly because he didn't think the man would actually trust him enough to nod off in his bedroom, enhanced senses and reflexes or no. But then, the guy must be exhausted, running around on a killing spree after a six-year coma with hunters and werewolves and law enforcement all gunning for him at the same time. Anyone would want some shut-eye, and Stiles will never admit it, but he’s kind of pleased that Peter trusts him _enough_ to do that here, even if it’s just because they're soulmates. From what Stiles has heard about other soulmates, that sort of thing always comes with at least an instinctive level of trust in each other (although Scott and Allison had about twenty times that much when _they_ first met).

 

Anything deeper can come later.

 

Stiles places the casserole on the bedside table – quietly – before taking a moment to examine his soulmate. Peter has scars, yes, ones that must have hurt so badly when he got them, and they can’t even compare to the pain of losing most of his family, but even like this, the werewolf is strikingly attractive, physically _and_ mentally. They don’t detract from the overall package at all, and Stiles suspects that he wouldn't care anyway even if they did because Peter is _his_. His soulmate. The only one in the world.

 

Stiles shakes his head to get his thoughts back on track, and then he turns to get down to business on his laptop. If he’s going to be fudging evidence and framing a killer for multiple murders, alibis will have to be built, his hacking skills will have to be brushed up, past crimes will have to be dug up, a few favours may have to be called in, and he’s going to have to start compiling arguments for when it comes time to throw down on the whole Peter-is-his-soulmate issue with Scott, Derek, _and_ his dad.

 

Oh man, his dad.  Well, problem for another day.

 

Peter’s already promised to desist from harming Stiles’ friends, and maybe it’s a stupid thing to do, but Stiles believes him. Which means now, if anybody has a problem with Peter Hale, they’ll have to go through Stiles first.

 

And Stiles may be human, but he’s never been harmless.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please leave a review on your way out.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after everything with Kate goes down, and Peter is no longer a wanted man.

 

“Do you want the Bite?”

 

It’s spoken idly, like an afterthought, but when Stiles unfreezes enough to look up from the various floor plans he’s been sketching out, Peter is watching him just as intently as he did right after the whole soulmate revelation.

 

“I didn't get the chance to ask earlier,” The werewolf continues candidly. “But if you want, I could turn you.”

 

Stiles takes a careful breath. “...Would it matter to you if I said no?”

 

Peter cants his head thoughtfully, couples it with a casual lift of his shoulders. “I suppose not, but you would be like me. Like Scott, if you’d prefer. Stronger, faster-”

 

“-perfect?” Stiles finishes dryly, ducking his head again to return his attention back to the blueprints. He deliberately does not clench his fingers into the paper. “No thanks, if it’s all the same to y-”

 

He jerks back a little when a large hand traps one his wrists against the table, and when he looks up, Peter has leaned forward so that there’s only a few inches between their noses.

 

“You're _my_ soulmate,” Peter says fiercely, eyes flashing red. “You're already perfect.”

 

Stiles’ mouth drops open for an embarrassing five-second count before he snaps it shut again, only to feel a flush crawl up his neck and cheeks. Peter smirks with satisfaction, letting him go and settling back in his chair again.

 

“The offer’s always on the table,” Peter continues in milder tones. “You would make a wonderful wolf, that’s all.”

 

“Or I could die,” Stiles points out bluntly.

 

Peter scoffs like that option isn’t even in the realm of possibilities. “You're more of a wolf as you are than _Derek_ is, which is just sad but my nephew’s always been that way.”

 

Stiles cocks his head pensively. “Too much of a... separatist?”

 

Peter’s lip curls. “You could say that. Derek’s always thought of his wolf and human sides as separate entities, the former more of a burden than the latter, especially when he was a teenager. You could say he still hasn't entirely grown out of that phase yet either.”

 

Stiles taps his chin with one end of his pencil, brow knitting in thought. “But wouldn't thinking like that... I don’t know, make him weaker? It would be like only accepting half of yourself, right? And sort of rejecting the other? ’Cause for a were’, the animal and human are the same, aren’t they? Just... two parts of a whole.”

 

Peter smiles, his mouth a slow upward curve of appreciation. “As I said – you would make a wonderful wolf, Stiles.”

 

Stiles huffs and shakes his head, going back to doing the calculations for the first of many bedrooms. “Just because I understand something about werewolves doesn't mean I’d automatically be good at running around on four legs, strutting around in a leather jacket, and mauling fluffy bunny rabbits for food.”

 

He pauses, getting sidetracked by the additional measurements that will be needed if he wants to include several extra exit points for easy escape just in case there’s ever a Kate Take Two.

 

“The new version looks more complicated than the original,” Peter observes from where he’s leaning forward again, gaze flicking intently between the old set of blueprints for the Hale House that he dug up when Stiles asked for them and the new ones Stiles is drawing.

 

Stiles bobs his head. “It’ll cost more but I figured having more windows and porch doors would be best. I mean, seriously, _one_ escape route built in the _basement_? That’s just stupid. Uh, no offense to your family.”

 

“I'm sure they wouldn't mind,” Peter murmurs lightly. “Go on.”

 

Stiles hesitates for a moment but he figures that his soulmate would have no qualms with telling him to shut up if he doesn't want to hear something. “Well, this is just a first draft, but I was thinking we could have viable exit points all throughout the house on every floor so that if there’s ever any trouble, we can just dive out the nearest window or door. The tunnel in the basement can be rebuilt but I don’t want that to be the only option if we have to make a quick getaway.

 

“Of course, I also want to ward the shit out of the place too, not just erect wards around the Beacon Hills Preserve, and then lay down another set around the Hale Property, but also enough on the house itself so that the chances of another house fire – or any enemy getting onto the property to hurt any of us for that matter – would be next to nil. That’s what these measurements are for; I’ve read that runes carved into a strong framework made of certain types of wood are even stronger than just slapping them on to the finished product, and since we’re pretty much tearing this place down and rebuilding from scratch anyway, it would be the perfect opportunity to layer the wards directly into the structure as we go.

 

“And as a last resort, just in case someone _does_ manage to trap us all inside the house one day, maybe we can install a panic room of some sort? We can fireproof it, bomb-proof it, _everything_ -proof it, and stock it with water and food and other essentials beforehand so that if we ever need to, we can just retreat there for refuge.

 

“Also, weapons. I know you wolves have fangs and claws but it wouldn't hurt to stash some knives and guns around this place too, panic room included. I mean, what if your wolfy powers were out of commission or something for whatever reason, and hunters decided to attack and managed to get past the wards? It would be a disaster all around if we didn't have anything to defend ourselves with. Some wolfsbane and mountain ash wouldn't hurt either, and I know they're dangerous stuff to you guys, but if we get attacked by other were’s, it’ll be dangerous for them too. Which reminds me – there are different kinds of wolfsbane, right? I need to learn that; the medicinal purposes will be useful.”

 

He stops to take a breath, or rather, to jot down a note for himself in his notebook to start researching on every kind of wolfsbane there is, plus – do hybrid types do anything? And if there are so-and-so number of different ways to poison a were’ with various types of wolfsbane, does that mean that there are always the same so-and-so number of different ways to _heal_ them, even if the antidote hasn't been discovered yet?

 

Okay, future research topic Number 13, though he’ll bump it up the priority list because that seems a lot more vital than, say, werewolf mating habits or reactions to phases of the moon, though the latter is still moderately important; he’ll study that after the wolfsbane, runes, and pack laws. It’s a good thing he knows how to multitask because wow, there is a _lot_ of shit to get done. He picks up a highlighter and underlines wolfsbane.

 

He almost jumps out of his skin when a hand enters his line of sight and picks up the notebook from the coffee table. Zooming back into the present, he gnaws on his bottom lip as Peter flips through the pages and pages and _pages_ of Stiles’ handwritten notes, some of it bordering on chicken scratch because of how hastily he scribbled them down. There are even a few coffee cup stains stamped here and there from some of the overnighters he’s pulled to marathon some new branch of knowledge he managed to uncover.

 

He’ll have to organize and type all of it up some time or another.

 

“You learned all this by yourself?” Peter enquires at length. His tone of voice is too bland for Stiles to really ascertain what he’s thinking.

 

He nods, somewhat cautiously. “You lent me some books a month ago-”

 

“Two,” Peter says. “On basic werewolf lore.”

 

Stiles nods again. “Yeeaahh, and I finished them in, like, a week and a half, but I also have access to the internet, so I can cross-reference the stuff I find on there with the information from the books, which helps distinguish some of the bullshit from the non-bullshit, so – voila! – more things to learn, and Deaton’s lent me some of his books after a _lot_ of wheedling, _and_ I convinced Allison to pass on some photocopied pages of the Argent Bestiary. That’s a work in progress but she can’t stand up to Scott’s puppy-dog eyes.”

 

Peter cants his head to the side, closing the notebook as he stares unblinkingly at Stiles. “It’s written in Latin.”

 

Stiles shrugs. “Uh-huh. So are several passages in your books. And most of Deaton’s books, which – by the way – that guy’s sneaky; he probably gave them to me thinking I wouldn't understand them. The guy’s never really liked me compared to Scott, go figure. So, you know, I learned Latin, mostly out of necessity, partly just to spite him.”

 

Peter doesn't look surprised. In fact, his expression doesn't really shift at all. “It can’t have been more than a month since you started.”

 

Stiles scratches at one cheek. “Well I'm not _fluent_ at it. I can’t speak it. Yet. But I can read some of it, and I'm getting better every day.”

 

A stilted silence falls over the room. Stiles squirms a little. He hates tension-filled silences. “...You didn't say I couldn't learn more than what you gave me,” He says somewhat defensively. “And even if you did, well, I wouldn't have listened to you anyway. You're my soulmate, and I’ll support your Alpha lordship as much as I can, but I'm not just gonna roll over and let you dictate what I do. If we disagree on whatever, we can talk about it and compromise, but no way will I ever go along with something I don’t-”

 

An amused sound cuts him off, and Stiles blinks in bemusement as his soulmate chuckles, most likely at his expense. “Dude, there is nothing funny about this-”

 

“Of course there is,” Peter interjects, amusement clear in his voice. He raises the notebook. “Stiles, you may learn to your heart’s delight. I would never try to stop you from seeking more knowledge. I was simply surprised because I was under the impression that you were still working on the books I gave you since you didn't come back and ask for more, nor did you ask me for translations of the Latin excerpts.” His eyes gleam under the soft glow of the multiple camping lanterns scattered about the Hale House’s sitting room. “It should've occurred to me that you’d solve that problem by _learning Archaic Latin_ on your own.”

 

Stiles digests this. “Oh. Well I didn't know you had translations.” He narrows his eyes accusingly. “So basically, you were withholding them to make sure I- what, came back to get them from you?”

 

Peter just smirks enigmatically and doesn't give him a straight answer. “My books are yours,” He offers instead. “I’ve moved them to my new apartment so you may come over anytime to read them. I also know some Latin myself. I could help you if you ever get stumped.”

 

“Both of those things sounds awesome, and now that you've offered, I'm definitely taking you up on them, but you know,” Stiles gives him the most unimpressed look he can muster. “I _like_ spending time with you. You don’t need to _bribe_ me to get me to stick around, Peter.”

 

Peter goes quiet for a long moment, smirk fading abruptly and leaving behind something that would've been insecurity on anybody else. “...You’re still young-”

 

“-and you're not exactly hitting your centennial yet, are you?” Stiles interrupts with a roll of his eyes. “What does that matter anyway? You're my soulmate; that’s all that matters to me, and anyone who says otherwise can either suck it up and deal or fuck off.” He waves an erratic hand at their general surroundings. “You think I’d plan murder, and learn magic, and stay up all night in a dilapidated house that looks ready to fall down on our heads to sketch blueprints and research obscure information about the supernatural for just anyone?”

 

Peter doesn't respond right away, momentarily busying himself with scanning a few more pages in the notebook instead. When he looks up again, his eyes bleed crimson, and he stares straight at Stiles for a long moment.

 

Stiles stares back. Does the guy want him to bare his throat? He’s done a pretty thorough read-up on werewolf hierarchy and all that it entails but it doesn't really feel right to show submission here, or anywhere really. Stiles has never really bowed to anyone, not bullies, certainly not Scott, and not even his dad. These days – for years now if he’s honest – Stiles obeys the Sheriff, like, approximately forty percent of the time, if that. The rest of the time, even if his dad says no, Stiles goes behind his back and does it anyway. And that’s only when John Stilinski actually knows about his son’s various extracurricular activities to begin with, which – frankly – isn’t often. Like now for example.

 

But before Stiles can make up his mind about how he should react, the Alpha red eyes seep back to the blue that he likes best, and Peter’s mouth quirks at one corner as if Stiles has passed some sort of test.

 

“I agree,” The werewolf says, seemingly a propos of nothing until he taps a finger against the blueprints. “The panic room sounds like a good idea, as does the new design of the house. I can buy all the materials needed but I’d rather we build the house ourselves instead of relying on outsiders.”

 

Stiles frowns, realigning his thoughts back on track. “Okay, yeah, that makes sense, but I don’t know how to build a house. Drawing the layout is one thing but I can’t even do most of the heavy-lifting.”

 

“Leave that to me,” Peter assures. “And Derek and Scott; they have to pull their own weight sooner or later, and I've been considering giving the Bite to a few others to expand our Pack.”

 

Stiles chews absently on the cap of his highlighter. “Yeah, I figured; not too young, not too old, right? Did you have anyone in mind?”

 

Peter looks to be suppressing the majority of another smirk even as he gives Stiles a small leer. “Now, Stiles, do I seem the type to stalk high school students in my spare time?”

 

Stiles gives him a look of utter disbelief. “Uh, let me think about that... Hm, I’d have to say _yeah_ , you kinda do, creeperwolf, and let me tell you, no one with any sort of common sense would agree to anything a thirty-something-year-old guy offers them if you go with your usual methods of persuasion.”

 

Peter looks wholly unrepentant but he concedes, “Compile me a list then. You should know your schoolmates better than I ever could at this point. We can discuss it afterwards.”

 

Stiles straightens, already mentally cataloguing everyone he knows. “Got it. I’ll get back to you in two weeks.” He studies the blueprints again. “Sooo... when do you want to talk to Deaton about the wards? Now or after we start-”

 

“Never.”

 

Stiles stills before glancing up sharply at the odd note edging Peter’s voice. The werewolf is sneering rather disdainfully, and his eyes are icy.

 

“...We sort of have to,” Stiles points out slowly, trying to pinpoint what the problem is. “Unless you know some other druid living conveniently nearby who can make us some wards. Besides, wasn't he your old Pack’s Emissary?”

 

Peter nods curtly. “Talia – my sister, the Alpha – trusted him quite a bit. Despite the fact that he was independent of the Pack.”

 

Stiles’ brow knits in thought. “But you don’t. Trust him.”

 

Peter’s gaze slides over to one of the many charred holes decorating the Hale House but not really seeing it in favour of some distant memory long gone up in smoke. When he looks back at Stiles again, his smile has too many teeth to be considered pleasant. “Alan Deaton was the one who constructed the wards for my family’s home when Talia was Alpha. As you can see, his handiwork didn't exactly make the grade when it counted.”

 

Stiles doesn't say anything for a long minute. And then, “Do we need to kill him too?”

 

Peter scrutinizes him for a moment before a ghost of a smirk – cruel and cold and intrinsically broken – flits across his face. “As much as a part of me would like to, no, he _was_ loyal to Talia if nothing else. He wouldn't have weakened the wards for Kate, or worked with her in any capacity. Still, I won’t accept mediocre work. He may have been the Hale Pack’s previous Emissary but he won’t be the current one.”

 

“Okay, well,” Stiles can’t blame the guy for that decision but- “Do you know another druid? I wouldn't have any ideas of where to start looking.”

 

Peter says nothing. He only looks at Stiles, waiting.

 

Stiles isn’t stupid. It still takes him several seconds before he _gets_ it.

 

“Me?!” He yelps. “Are you insane?! I don’t know the first thing about runes!”

 

Peter arches an eyebrow. Stiles flushes. Oh right, the guy’s already seen his notebook. “Okay, I know something,” He amends. “But nowhere near enough. I don’t even have a teacher, and Deaton was already reluctant about letting me borrow his books; he’s not gonna teach me too, and you probably don’t want me to spend a whole lot of time with him either, right? I pretty much redefine amateur at the moment, and you want me to create wards for your house? I repeat – are you insane?”

 

“Obviously, I don’t expect you to create them right now,” Peter clarifies soothingly. “It’ll be a while before we can even begin construction, much less start on the wards. I have books on the subject, and you've always been a quick-study, Stiles.”

 

“Yeah, but-”

 

“I trust you,” Peter says, and Stiles freezes. His soulmate’s expression is calm and perfectly serious.

 

Stiles swallows, searching helplessly for the right words to say here. “Um...”

 

“Stiles, I'm letting you design my house,” Peter reminds him with a faint smile. “This should not come as that much of a surprise.” He glances at the blueprints. “Although I have to admit – your architectural skills have definitely surpassed my expectations.”

 

“I kinda have to be good if I wanna go into architecture when I grow up,” Stiles reveals distractedly. “But never mind that; you can go over these blueprints yourself to make sure I haven’t done anything to them that you don’t like. You wouldn't exactly be able to tell if I fuck up one of the wards, or if I add in something that’ll be dangerous to you and your Pack.”

 

“ _Our_ Pack,” Peter corrects. “And you're a perfectionist, Stiles-”

 

“Doesn't mean I won’t make mistakes.”

 

“No, but you’ll do your best,” Peter says with absolute certainty. “And that’s good enough for me.”

 

“And if I put something dangerous to you in them?” Stiles argues persistently.

 

Peter has the gall to roll his eyes. “Would you?”

 

“Well no, of course not! But-”

 

“Then I don’t see the problem here,” Peter concludes, looking positively exasperated now.

 

Stiles flails, spluttering for words that will at least come close to expressing his incredulity. He fails. Also, his highlighter goes flying. Peter helpfully plucks it out of the air for him.

 

Stiles groans and flops sideways on the couch, draping an arm over his eyes. “Alright, whatever, but I'm _not_ creating anything until _I_ say I'm ready.”

 

“Of course,” Peter agrees. Apparently, the bastard can be gracious in victory.

 

Stiles peeks out behind one elbow and growls wordlessly at him. Peter just smiles back at him indulgently. “Are you certain you don’t want the Bite? You’re already picking up the habits.”

 

“Do you like me any less just because I'm a human?” Stiles retorts.

 

“Of course not.” The reply doesn't miss a beat.

 

“Would you like me any more if I was a werewolf?”

 

This gets him the reproachful don’t-be-stupid raised eyebrows. “It wouldn't make a difference to me, Stiles.”

 

Stiles side-eyes him for a long moment, gauging Peter’s sincerity, and then he rolls onto his back and closes his eyes. “Then I'm good.”

 

A contemplative pause. “And if I’d said the opposite?”

 

Stiles doesn't even have to think about it. “Go fuck yourself.”

 

Over the squeak of an aging armchair and the crinkle of a page being turned, Peter makes that quiet, slightly rusty noise that Stiles now equates with genuine laughter.

 

It sounds like fond approval.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please leave a review on your way out.**


End file.
